Picking Up the Pieces
by KatPee81
Summary: How did Katniss and Peeta "grow back together"? I wrote this as a prequel to my other story, Out of the Ashes. Story comes from Katniss and Peeta's points of view.
1. Chapter 1

**Peeta**

Dawn is beginning to break as the train approaches District Twelve, and I'm careful to avoid the windows. I know the scene of destruction that awaits me, and I don't wish to look upon it before I have to.

Yesterday, when Dr. Aurelius gave me the okay to leave the Capitol, I immediately made arrangements to return home—what's left of it anyway which is not much—and I was lucky. There just happened to be a train bound for Twelve leaving that very day. If I hadn't caught it, I would have had to extend my stay in the Capitol by several weeks, and that wouldn't have set well with me.

I'm anxious to see Katniss. Worried about her. She has lost the one person in the world it would have killed her to lose, and Dr. Aurelius says she hasn't once picked up the phone. We haven't heard from Haymitch either, who's supposed to be looking after her, but that's hardly surprising. I don't have to guess at why he's been shirking on his responsibilities.

I'm a little nervous about what to expect when I get home. To say that Katniss and I have a complicated relationship is an understatement. It was complicated before the Quell, when we were only pretending to be a couple madly in love. After the Capitol programmed me to kill her, it's been nothing but chaos and tumult.

I'm no longer a danger to her, or anybody else for that matter, myself included. Otherwise, I wouldn't be on this train. My flashbacks are no longer the violent episodes that erupted back in Thirteen. Now, I just zone out for a few minutes. But not a week goes by that they don't happen at least twice. I've learned some techniques that keep me grounded in the present until they pass, and there is hope that, over time, they will become shorter and less frequent.

A part of me still hopes for a future with Katniss. A home. Maybe children someday. I never did stop loving her. Even when I was pushed past the point of sanity by the tracker-jacker venom, deep down I knew I was wrong for believing the lies the Capitol fed me. But the venom was too potent to allow me to listen to reason. But maybe now, without the Capitol breathing down our necks, we'll have a chance to untangle the mess they created for us.

But there's another part of me that tries to stifle that hope. I'm not really sure how Katniss feels about me. Gale said she loves me, and he knew her better than almost anybody. Says I won her over with my willingness to sacrifice myself in the Quell. I don't think he would have made such an admission if he didn't believe it were true. He was, after all, my rival. And I have to admit, that night, under that starlit sky that the Gamemakers crafted, the way she kissed me, unlike every other staged kiss we'd shared since the first Games, felt different. More natural, as though all that passion coming from her was real, and not just some strategic maneuver for the sponsors. And I really wanted to believe it was.

I wonder, if I had been rescued from the arena along with her, if the Capitol hadn't force-fed me all those false memories, if I hadn't tried to kill her, would she have allowed herself to love me?

_Don't go there, Peeta,_ I tell myself_._ _Don't get your hopes up. _Because I get the feeling that Katniss, for reasons all her own, doesn't want the kind of love I want to give her—the kind that leads to family. If she did, she could have had it with Gale long before the reaping. He was certainly more than willing. But even he seemed unable to break free of the friend zone.

I sigh, shake my head. I don't know what the future holds for me and Katniss. At any rate, that's not a bridge I can cross right now. She just lost her sister, for God's sake, and the last thing she needs is for me to burst through her door and make romantic gestures. Right now, she needs a friend, and that much at least, I know I can be. She's the only thing this wretched war hasn't taken from me, and I'm not about to do anything to drive her away.

_One day at a time, Peeta, _I tell myself, recalling the wisdom of my head doctor. _One day at a time._

The train begins to slow. I stand up and make my way to the exit. I have no luggage, just the clothes on my back. The door opens, and...

The scene hits me like a punch in the gut. I stand there in mute shock, unable to move forward. I've seen the footage on television. The night I was captured, Snow made sure I was watching as a bomb made a direct hit to my family's bakery. But nothing could have prepared me for the death and desolation that lay before me. The streets littered with bodies, the shops reduced to charred rubble. I stare across the square, where the bakery once stood. The place I grew up, now nothing but ash and debris. Not the smallest semblance remains of my district.

No wonder Haymitch stays drunk. I almost wish I had a bottle.

___Get ahold of yourself, Peeta._

Finally finding my feet, I step through the door, pulling the hood of my jacket over my head to protect it from the cold March wind.

The sun is just beginning to peek over the mountains as I take the road to the Victor's Village. I cover my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt so as not to inhale the ash that blows through the air. I come upon a shovel laying on the ground nearby, and a sudden thought hits me. I grab it and hastily head in the other direction, to the woods.

* * *

As I dig into the soft earth below Katniss' bedroom window, I am brought up short as she appears from around the corner, looking like she's ready to spit nails.

The sight of her is heartbreaking. I knew she wasn't doing well, but this is worse than I feared. She's way too thin. Her skin is sallow, hair matted into clumps. The circles under her eyes look like bruises. She's wearing her hunting jacket over clothes that only could have come from the Capitol, and she smells like she hasn't bathed in weeks.

"You're back," she says, seemingly as shocked as I am.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," I reply apologetically. "By the way he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

She reaches up to push the hair out of her eyes. Only then does she seem to realize how unkempt she is. She goes on the defensive.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

"I went out to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her. I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

She looks between me and the wheelbarrow of primrose bushes. After a curt nod, she runs into the house, slamming the door behind her. The last thing I hear is the deadbolt as it slides into place.

* * *

**Katniss**

The sight of Peeta and the primroses has jogged something in me, almost as though pure adrenaline has been shot through my body. Suddenly, I'm acutely aware of everything around me, particularly the stench Snow left behind.

Greasy Sae lets herself in as I purge the house of the smell of roses. She seems relieved to see me up and about and groomed, although she doesn't let on so.

"I'm going hunting today," I tell her over breakfast.

"Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game at that," she says nonchalantly, as though it's been an everyday occurence since we returned.

As I leave the house, I walk back around to where I met Peeta earlier. There, I find the five bushes planted in a neat little row. And if I know Peeta, he chose that spot in particular, maybe so that their fragrance would waft in through my bedroom window, giving me comfort at night when the terrors descend. It's a gesture that only the old, pre-mutt Peeta would have made.

A sudden pang of guilt hits me. He just left the Capitol yesterday. If he traveled by train, he probably got in early this morning. And the first thing he did was venture out to the woods—outside of his comfort zone—to do something kind for me. And how do I thank him? By running into the house and locking the door.

_Way to go, Katniss._

I walk to his house, just three down from mine, and knock on the door. I wait a few minutes, but there's no answer. He's probably sleeping. I'm sure he's exhausted. I decide to come back later.

But I don't get the chance later. Months of not moving and barely eating have taken its toll. I'm so weak I barely make it to my old meeting place with Gale. And the sight of the mass grave that has been dug in the meadow doesn't help matters. Seeing the bones of people I might have known—spoken to, traded with at the Hob—makes my stomach churn. This was a bad idea. I'm in such bad shape that Thom has to give me a ride home.

In the living room, I am shocked to find Buttercup there to welcome me with his signature hisses. All kinds of old friends seem to be showing up today. Judging by his worn, scraggly appearance, he travelled on foot, all the way from District Thirteen, looking for Prim.

"It was a waste of a trip. She's not here," I spit at him. In answer, I get another hiss.

"Go away, you stupid cat!" I throw a pillow at him. "She's dead! She's never coming back!"

As I say this, the tears begin to spill. Buttercup, finally getting the message, cries along with me. Crushed by grief, I lay there on the sofa sobbing until I fall unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Peeta**

Transplanting the primroses after traveling all night has completely wiped me out. I go straight home as soon as the task is done and am gone the second my head hits the pillow. But my sleep is far from easy.

Katniss and I are back in the first arena, running for our lives as wolf-mutt versions of our fellow tributes close in. I'm staggering to the top of the Cornucopia, where I hope the mutts can't follow. As soon as I'm a safe enough distance up, my bad leg gives out. I collapse onto my hands and knees, trying desperately to catch my breath.

I look up at Katniss as I draw in giant heaves of air. "Are...are you o—"

I stop mid-sentence, horrified to find myself face to face with yet another wolf-mutt. It's Katniss. She's one of _them!_

The words of snow echo in my head. "Katniss Everdeen is our creation. She never loved you. She killed your family, and she's going to kill you."

The Katniss-mutt lunges toward me, ready to slit my throat with those lethal claws. As a reflex reaction, I point my knife toward her, piercing her torso as she lands on top of me.

"Peeta...what...what did you _do_?" says the mortally wounded mutt. Only...it's Katniss' voice. I lift the body slightly for a better look, and as the realization sinks in, I am once again stricken with horror. It's Katniss. My Katniss. It was her all along. She never was a mutt.

"No!" I sit up and take her in my arms. "Katniss, I'm sorry! Please, don't die!"

But my plea is in vain. As I sit there cradling the girl I love in my lap, her body goes limp.

"Noooo!"

I come to in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as I take in my surroundings. I'm at home, in my own room. I just got back this morning. "It was only a dream," I tell myself.

I push myself into a sitting position. "Only a dream."

I know Katniss isn't a mutt. I know she didn't kill my family. I know she never wanted me dead. Everything the Capitol told me about her was a lie. But the fact that they were able to so easily convince me otherwise when I loved her so much shames me to my core. Ever since the first reaping, I've done all I could not to become a piece in their Games, but every time they haunt me in my sleep, every time I'm gripped by a flashback, I feel like they succeeded.

_But they didn't succeed!_ I remind myself. It took a hell of a lot of work, but I was able to be brought back before I did the unthinkable. I shake off the nightmare and get up.

I'm still covered in dirt from the morning's work, and I smell like a pair of old gym socks. I take a quick shower and decide to go see her.

As I pull my front door shut behind me, I catch Greasy Sae letting herself into Katniss' house. Her granddaughter, Lily is there with her. I call out her name and jog over.

"Peeta Mellark!" The old woman smiles politely, but seems a bit guarded. "When did you get back?"

"Just this morning," I say.

Greasy Sae stands in front of the door, blocking my entry. "And...you're okay to be around Katniss?" She does have reason to ask, and it sends a pang through me, hitting me in the gut.

I nod assuringly. "I'm fine."

She studies my face for a moment, then decides it's okay. She steps aside and holds the door open for me. "I'm sorry. I just had to make sure."

"I understand," I say ruefully.

Lily, who looks to be about six or seven, occupies herself by tangling various colors of yarn.

"So, you just got back today." Greasy Sae pulls a covered dish from the refrigerator and sets it on the counter. "That might explain it, then."

"Explain what?" I ask, puzzled.

"Katniss' sudden activity," she replies.

"Sudden activity?"

"Been worried about her. I come here twice a day to feed her and deliver her mail." She nods toward the unopened letters on the mantle. "She hasn't left that chair since the day she came back, and that's no exaggeration. Hasn't bathed, hasn't changed her clothes. Probably wouldn't have eaten if I didn't make her."

"Yeah, I saw her briefly this morning," I say. "She was a real mess."

"Until today," Greasy Sae continues. "Today I got here, and all the windows in the house were wide open, and she was clean, and her hair was brushed, and she announced she was going hunting, just like that. Guess she's still out."

"She's dead."

The words came from down the hall in an agonized mixture of a groan and a sob. Greasy Sae and I go to investigate and find Katniss fast asleep on the sofa, still clad in her hunting gear.

"My word!" Greasy Sae gasps at the sight of Prim's cat, Buttercup, looking like he's been through the wringer. "Where on earth did he come from?"

"She's been crying," I say, noting the puffiness around Katniss' eyes. "A lot."

"That's another first, then." says the old woman. "Finally showing some emotion. She may yet be okay."

"You think we should wake her up?" I ask. "Make her eat?"

The old woman shakes her head. "Best to let her sleep. I'll come back in the morning."

"All right," I say. "I'm just going to carry her upstairs before I head out."

"Good seeing you, Peeta." Greasy Sae collects her granddaughter, and they're out the door.

I unzip Katniss' jacket and, as carefully as I can, remove her arms from the sleeves. She must really be exhausted, because the movement doesn't cause her to stir a bit. I move on to her boots, placing them neatly on the floor. As I scoop her up into my arms, I can easily tell she's much lighter than she used to be. But that's probably a good thing, since I'm not exactly at my physical peak, either. I place her on her bed, over the covers, and find a blanket to drape over her. Buttercup jumps up and joins her on the pillow.

I leave a kiss on her forehead before I go.

* * *

**Katniss**

Hours have passed when I wake. I'm in my own bed for the first time since I've been back, and Buttercup, eyes glowing a greenish yellow in the darkness, is here with me. I glance through the window and can tell by the tint of the sky that dawn is close at hand.

I crashed pretty early last night, so I'm sure I'm not going back to sleep. But I'm not certain I want to get up either. What good can possibly come of me getting out of bed when all I do is cause suffering to those around me? I saw plenty of it yesterday. All over the district people are digging up the bodies of those they love. People who died because of me. I could actually feel their accusing stares bore into the back of my neck as I passed by.

Even Prim's death happened because of me. Because Coin wasn't able to kill me. How messed up is that? If either of us deserved to die, it wasn't Prim. She was the opposite of what I am. I am a killer, and she, a _healer_.

The pain of her loss is what hurts more than anything, and it's a hurt I'll carry with me for the rest of my life. Right now I would love nothing more than to join her. Why did they have to rescue me from the fire? Why couldn't they have just let the flames that claimed my sister take me too?

Why couldn't Peeta have let me take that nightlock?

Peeta...he's back.

The sky outside lightens, giving prominence to the cuts on Buttercup's body. That's no good. I failed my sister in life, the least I can do for her now is take care of her cat.

"Come on," I say in a dead voice. "Let's get you cleaned up." The cat jumps down and follows me to the kitchen.

Well, what do you know? I'm out of bed.

Today.

* * *

I'm not sure what made me do it, but I called my mother after I fixed up Buttercup. Between the tears I shed last night, and the ones that poured as I spoke to her, I'm pretty dried out by the time Greasy Sae and Peeta show up for breakfast, but there's no erasing the evidence.

"I brought these." Peeta hands me a basket. I lift the cover for a peek at its contents.

"Cheese buns." So, he remembers. It's been so long since I've had these, I've forgotten how good they are. The smell alone makes my mouth water. I can't help smiling at the gesture. "Thank you."

He returns the smile, sending unexpected warmth through me. "It was nothing."

The adults talk sporadically over breakfast, but you can't really say we're keeping up a conversation. Lily keeps the rest of us entertained with children's songs.

I don't know if it's having spoken to my mother, or Peeta's return, or the cheese buns, but I am feeling a little better than I did twenty-four hours ago. Not at all happy, just slightly less depressed. Like the dark clouds are still looming over me, but there's a break in the rain. For now.

"What do you kids have planned for today?" Greasy Sae asks.

"I'm going into town to help with the clean-up," Peeta says.

I hesitate before answering. "I'll probably...go hunting, or something." But the truth is, I have no intention of leaving the house. I can't bring myself to face the people out there.

Greasy Sae is first to finish her breakfast and heads over to the sink.

"I'll do the dishes today," I volunteer. "You've done enough."

"All right. I'll leave you to it, then. Come, Lily. We have work to do." Lily grabs her jacket and the two of them are out the door. That's when I realize I have no idea what Greasy Sae does when she's not busy feeding me.

There's no need to make small talk with Peeta as we continue eating. And that's a good thing, because what would we talk about? _"So, Peeta, how did your treatment with Aurelius go? Still feel like killing me?" _It's like I once said, our entire relationship has been tainted by the Games. Now, you can add war, hijacking, and being burned alive to the list. What a pair we are.

I finish my breakfast and start on the dishes.

"Let me help you with that." Peeta grabs a towel and we make short work of the task, me washing and him drying. As we finish up, the phone begins to ring.

"Dr. Aurelius," I say. He calls every week at this time.

"Then I'll go so you can answer that," Peeta says. "I'll see you later."

"See you."

As he is heading out the door, I suddenly remember. "Oh, Peeta!"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for the primroses," I say.

His mouth turns up at the corners. "It was nothing."

* * *

_**I admit this chapter is a bit depressing. I promise things will get better, but I want to paint a realistic picture, and I don't think our Star-Crossed Lovers were in each other's arms from day one. I'm sure there was a little awkwardness as they got re-acquainted in a world without the Games, which was just about the only thing they had in common. And neither of them healed overnight. There will be plenty of swoony romance to come (**_**:D :D :D****_), but before we get to that, both our kids have a long road to recovery ahead of them._**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry I took so long. I've had a horrible case of writer's block. To tell the truth, I'm not too sure how I feel about this chapter. What do you guys think? I'm open to suggestions.**_

* * *

**Katniss**

I hesitate for about twenty rings, debating whether or not I want to answer the doctor's call. I just can't see how an hour a week of psychotherapy will help me. The only thing that would is if Prim were to come walking through the door telling me that her presumed death was a simple case of mistaken identity, and I'm pretty sure that isn't going to happen. When I finally do decide to bite the bullet, there's nothing but dead air at the other end. Guess I hesitated too long. I spend the next ten minutes working up the nerve to call back.

His advice is simple. Routines are comforting. Establish one. Stay busy.

So that's what I do. Every morning I'm faced with the daunting challenge of getting out of bed, but since the alternative is to listen to Buttercup's persistent wailing until I let him out, I am left with no choice. Greasy Sae, Lily, and Peeta show up for breakfast, which, I admit, I look forward to. We all eat, then Greasy Sae leaves to do her thing. Peeta helps me with the dishes, then goes to help out in town, leaving me alone with a desperate search for something to fill the empty hours. Call my mother to talk about nothing. Break something and fix it. Anything will do. Anything but hunting. One day I even become so desperate that I clean Haymitch's house while he's obliviously passed out. It's a good, three-day project. I feel a little intrusive doing it—how he keeps his house should be nobody's business but his own—but I reason that, as my mentor, he's supposed to be looking after me, and this helps keep me sane. Sort of. On a bad day, I end up back in the old familiar rocker, staring at the fire until Peeta and Greasy Sae return for dinner. Eat. Dishes. Bed.

And the cycle continues. Day in and day out. I go through the motions, simply existing.

The thing about spending your days with nothing better to do than look for busy work is they tend to blur together. I know we're well into spring, but I don't exactly keep track of the date. My weekly sessions with Dr. Aurelius are the only thing that mark the passage of time. Every day might as well be Wednesday. Or Saturday, or Monday. Take your pick. It's all the same to me.

With the lengthening of the days, Greasy Sae, although she still joins us for breakfast every morning, stays in town later and later. Eventually she stops coming for dinner altogether, but Peeta keeps things interesting by trying new recipes from a book he ordered from the Capitol. The ingredients for the exotic foods we experienced in training and on the Victory Tour are now distributed throughout the districts. They're still quite expensive, but Peeta can afford it.

One evening, after a day spent staring at the flames, I'm taken by surprise when Peeta shows up bearing a beautifully decorated cake. Tucked under his arm is a flat, rectangular object wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a ribbon.

"Happy birthday." He flashes that smile I'm sure is meant to warm me, but it doesn't have it's usual effect.

"Oh," I say blankly. "Is that today?"

"Today's the eighth, isn't it?"

I know Peeta meant well, but the elaborately sculpted design in the frosting only makes me think of Prim. My first impulse is to scream daggers at him, and throw the thing into the fire, but instead, I retreat to the nearest bedroom, where I can let the tears flow in private.

Shortly after, I hear the door open. "Katniss?" Next is the sound of approaching footsteps. "If I did something wrong—" Peeta begins.

"Please, just leave," I sob, without looking up at him.

I don't leave the room for the rest of the evening.

Hours later, after I've cried myself dry, a feeling of remorse washes over me. Between the cake and my gift—which, I think I can safely assume is a painting—Peeta has put a lot of work into my birthday. And just like I did the day he planted the primroses, I slapped him in the face. What is wrong with me?

I owe him an apology. Again. And I'd rather not wait until morning, because after the way I acted, he might not show up for breakfast.

I look at the time and see it's just before midnight. He _might_ still be awake. I guess it couldn't hurt to walk by his house and see if there are any lights on. I could use the fresh air, anyway.

* * *

**Peeta**

After an uneasy attempt at sleep, I end up in the study, painting out my latest nightmare. Katniss was there, of course, standing in front of the bakery, gloating as it burned to the ground. My family trapped inside, begging for help. I know it's just the venom talking, but it's impossible to unsee the visions it created. But no matter how the story unfolds, they always end the same way. With me killing her and _then_ realizing how wrong I was. That's always the most agonizing part. The part that makes me glad to wake up.

I get the image out of my system the only way I know how. By smearing it onto a panel of canvas and then feeding it to the fire. It may seem wasteful, given the cost of decent art supplies, but it really does help. Sort of like keeping a journal. It's a type of therapy I couldn't afford before the Games. Which is ironic, given that the Games are what created my need for it in the first place.

I'm a little stung by Katniss' reaction earlier—I was only trying to help—but more than that, I'm baffled as to why a simple birthday cake could have that effect on her. It has to have something to do with Prim. I've seen Katniss cry a few times. She fought tears in the first arena when she expressed a desire to come home, and in the Quell, she was sobbing pretty hysterically when my heart stopped. But only her sister can draw tears like the ones I saw earlier tonight. I remember it happening in the clock arena, when the jabberjays made her believe she heard Prim screaming.

But how did I go wrong in baking a cake? Was the tiger lily I'd crafted on the frosting Prim's favorite flower or something?

The knock at the door brings me out of my reverie. I look up at the clock on the wall. Who could that be at this hour? I go to answer it.

"Katniss?"

She smiles slightly, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Hey."

"Come in." I hold the door open for her. It's the first time she's been to my house since my return. "Do you want some tea? Or, I have hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate sounds good."

I set a pan of milk to heat on the stove. "You know Holly Grey, right? She and her husband are going to sell it at the mercantile when they reopen it."

"That's nice." There is a long pause before she speaks again. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier."

I turn to face her. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," she says. "It just...reminded me of Prim. She used to pull me by the wrist to admire the cakes in the bakery window."

"Oh." Now I get it. Good thing she didn't open my gift. "I know you miss her."

Tears are beginning to well in Katniss' eyes again, and I can see she's trying desperately to keep them at bay. When she realizes she's losing the fight, she makes a beeline for the door.

"Where are you going?" I hurry after her, catching her elbow as her hand touches the knob.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I thought I was done."

"Don't apologize for crying," I almost laugh.

I pull her into my arms, and she allows the floodgate to open in full force. This is the first time we've touched since our return, and holding her feels so good I don't want to let go. So I don't. We stand there for I don't know how long, me stroking the top of her head while she wets my shirt with her tears.

The sound of something sizzling grabs our attention. The milk on the stove is boiling over, and the burner is on fire.

Before I can blink, the entire kitchen is engulfed.

* * *

**Katniss**

A panicked swear escapes Peeta's lips. The flames are only a couple of inches high—not even giving off smoke yet—but instead of springing into action, he just stands there and stares. His pupils are so fully dilated that no trace of blue can be seen.

"Peeta?" I wave my hand in front of him, but there is no response.

_Oh, no!_ I didn't realize he still had episodes. This is the first I've seen since the day we infiltrated the Capitol.

Luckily, because all houses in the Victor's Village are identical, I know where the extinguisher is stored. I quickly grab it, and snuff out the flames before any damage can be done, making a colossal mess in the process.

"Peeta?" I approach him cautiously as he continues to stare blankly, and am starting to wonder if I should leave. Or...maybe try kissing him? Like that wouldn't be about ten shades of awkward. Still, it's worked before. "Peeta?"

At the sound of my voice, his pupils return to normal. "Katniss!"

"Are you okay?" I ask.

Specks of powder from the extinguisher still hang in the air. He pulls the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose. "Let's get out of here for a minute. Let this stuff settle down."

I nod in agreement.

"Thanks for taking care of that," Peeta says once we're outside. We stroll along the sidewalk that runs in a rectangle around the Village green. "It was the coconut oil. I always put a little bit in the milk. Must've hit the burner when it boiled over."

"Oh," is all I can think to say.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I should have warned you about the flashbacks."

"Don't worry about it," I tell him. "There's no harm done."

"Just know that Dr. Aurelius and I made sure I wouldn't be a danger to you before he let me come back."

"I trust you, Peeta." Really, he's one of the few people left in the world I can say that to. I rack my brain for a subject change. "I didn't do anything for your birthday," I say, remembering it was last month.

"Oh, I don't care about that." He waves his hand dismissively.

"Well, I do," I say. "Let me make it up to you."

He gets a shrewd look in his eyes. "Anything I want?"

Why do I suddenly get the feeling he's going to make me eat my words? I hesitate before speaking. "Sure."

"Okay." He takes a minute to think about his answer. "I want a squirrel."

_I knew it! _I shouldn't have opened my big mouth. "Anything else."

"Not a chance. You made a promise."

"I hate you," I say. This only makes him laugh. I wonder how long it's been since he's done that. I wonder if I'll ever do it again. "I know what you're trying to do."

"Katniss, you need to get out of the house. And I don't mean to go across the lawn to clean up after Haymitch. I mean _out_ out. Start hunting again."

"For what?" I argue. "My family is gone. I have no one depending on me to put food on the table."

"No, but there are plenty of hungry people working to rebuild the district," Peeta says, "and the population is growing by the month. Greasy Sae can use all the meat she can get."

I shake my head. "Do you really think anyone wants my help after what happened?"

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, come on, Peeta!" I say in exasperation. "Everybody knows the bombing was my fault."

"Is that what you think?" He looks at me incredulously. "That's exactly the crap Snow tried to feed me, you know."

I sigh dejectedly. My eyes drop to the sidewalk. "Peeta, just because I didn't order the attack doesn't mean I'm not responsible for it happening. Snow didn't flatten District Four, or District Eight, where there were actual uprisings. No. He picked on the scared, defenseless people here. Because _I_ was the Mockingjay."

"No." Peeta lifts my chin so that I meet his eyes. "That's what Snow wanted you to believe. Katniss, he's dead. So don't let him win now by harboring misdirected guilt."

He's right, I guess. No matter what I believe, the last thing I ever want is to let Snow have any measure of control over me, especially now that he's dead. So, just this once, I decide to relent. "Fine. You'll get your squirrel."


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'm so, so, so sorry this took so long. It's been forever, I know, but I've had a horrible case of writer's block (and BTW, I'm always open to suggestions). Hopefully you won't have to wait as long on the next chapter. I didn't intend for the following conversation to take place so soon, but I think it's time for Katniss to start coming out of her funk. I hope you like it.**_

* * *

**Katniss**

By the time we get back to the house, the powder has settled. Everywhere. It's found its way into every crack and crevice. Even the inside of the drawers and cabinets, which were closed, couldn't escape receiving a coating, making cleanup no small task. After vacuuming up the bulk of it, Peeta and I spend the next few hours wiping down every surface and washing every dish and utensil he owns. By the time we're done, it's time for breakfast.

Lily is thrilled when she sees the birthday cake and hot chocolate, and Greasy Sae has no objections to letting that be breakfast.

"I wish you'd told me it was your birthday," she says. "I'd have made something special."

"It snuck up on me," I reply truthfully.

We all part ways after eating and, although I promised Peeta I'd go hunting, after our all-nighter, I'm completely spent. I head up to my bedroom, and am out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

* * *

The boom of thunder wakes me some time later, and it's so dark that my first assumption is that it's nighttime. But when I look up at the clock, it's early afternoon. I was only out for a few hours.

It's raining buckets outside, so Peeta is probably home. Nobody is getting any work done in this weather. I consider paying him a visit, but quickly dismiss the idea. If he's sleeping, which, after last night, is highly likely, I shouldn't disturb him. And anyway, I'll see him in a few hours for dinner. Until then, I guess I'll...call my mother.

As I'm dialing her number, there is a knock at the door. I open it to find Peeta standing on my porch, completely soaked, slinging a large plastic bag over his shoulder. Large drops of rain are falling from the curls on his forehead.

"Hey, Katniss," he says, slightly winded. "Can I borrow your oven?"

"You know where it is." I move aside to let him through. "What happened to yours?"

"It died on me."

"Just like that?"

"It was bound to happen." He unloads the contents of the bag onto the counter. Containers of flour, eggs, yeast, sugar and various other baking supplies. "It isn't designed for industrial use, and I've been baking up a storm. Even before the Quell, it never saw much of a break."

"Well, feel free to wear mine out."

"I plan to," he says wryly. "And when I'm through with yours, I'll move on to Haymitch."

I snort. "He'll never know you were there."

"He came by today," Peeta informs me.

"Oh, yeah?"

Peeta nods. "The train is due tomorrow, so of course he was completely sober."

"Poor man," I say in genuine sympathy. Haymitch doesn't take too kindly to withdrawal. "What did he want?"

"A pie."

I raise an eyebrow. Peeta just shrugs. "Wierd, right? But I made him one. This was before my oven went out, of course. Do you have a measuring cup?"

"Yeah, somewhere." I begin searching the cabinets.

It's always a little strange whenever Peeta and I engage in a real conversation. It's usually impossible to talk without bringing up anything painful, so we've been keeping each other company in comfortable silence.

I hand him the measuring cup, and assess the boatload of ingredients now occupying my countertop. "What army are you feeding?"

"Physical labor demands food," Peeta says.

I nod in understanding. "So you bake for everybody."

"Well, not officially." Peeta goes over to preheat the oven. "Usually I grab a hammer, but so many people are pouring in, I might just have to start baking full time."

He begins mixing ingredients and the inevitable silence takes over, broken only by the pelting of the rain against the window. I catch sight of my reflection in the darkened glass, and it isn't pretty. For the first time I realize how thin I've become. I mean, I've always been pretty thin, but right now, with the prominence of my cheek bones, the sallowness of my skin, and my thinning hair, I look more like the girl Peeta threw the bread to than the girl who volunteered for the Games. Throw in the dark circles under my sunken eyes and I'm a real mess. And that's with clothing covering the burn scars on my body.

While my current routine is an improvement over my first few months back, I have to admit my effort has been pretty weak. I eat, of course, but only when food is put in front of me. Truth betold, I don't have much of an appetite. I sleep long hours, but it's never restful. I've been taking Dr. Aurelius' calls, but only because I have to. It was one of the conditions of my release. I only speak when he asks me a question, and even then, my replies are terse. I don't volunteer much information, and he doesn't press me. I receive a prescription of antidepressants from him on each train, but so far the unopened bottles are taking up space in my medicine cabinet.

Is there a point in trying? I'll never be happy again. I tried to be happy after coming home from the first arena. Before the Quell. But with my victory, I lost who I was. I was no longer scraping for food, no longer trading illegal kills at the Hob. The Games had even driven a wedge between me and my best friend.

But I made the best of it. I continued to hunt illegally to help Gale feed his family. I visited the Hob, hitting up as many vendors as I could. Gale and I still went out to the woods on his days off. It was all a desperate attempt to hold on to the Katniss that the Capitol destroyed.

But I can't make the best of this hollow existence. At least before the Quell, I still had my family. Taking care of them gave me a sense of purpose. But in the end I failed the person I loved the most.

I look at Peeta in contrast and, although he has his own battles to fight, he seems to be faring a little better. He does bear physical evidence of the torment of the last two years—his prosthetic right leg, the burn scars on his arms, the dark circles under his eyes from sleep interrupted by nightmares. But since he's been back he's regained much of the weight and muscle definition of the boy I watched growing up. And despite everything he's been through, there is an air of hope about him. He actually is making the best of this new life.

I wish I knew how he does it.

I revisit our conversation from last night, and I think I know the answer. _"Snow's dead. So don't let him win now."_ Peeta is still fighting. Still determined to not let the Capitol own him. And what have I been doing? Wasting away in my own murky world, functioning like a robot, letting other people take care of me as though I'm incapable.

Letting the Capitol win.

"Does it help?" I ask after a few minutes of not speaking.

"Hmm?" Peeta looks up from his work. "Does what help?"

"Helping out in the district," I clarify.

"Yeah," he replies. "I mean, in the beginning I had trouble. Seeing the bodies everywhere, I kept thinking of my family being burned alive, and it caused flashbacks. I had to come home early every day the first couple of weeks. But it isn't like _not_ helping out will keep the flashbacks from happening. I mean, it's something I'm going to be dealing with for the rest of my life, regardless. And I'm not the only one grieving." He fights tears as he continues. "Everybody here lost someone they love. We all know each other's pain. So we lean on each other."

I realize this is the first time I've seen Peeta openly mourn for his family. I wonder when the reality that they were gone finally hit him—I mean _really_ hit him. I know from that first conversation with Delly that, although he didn't have the facts straight, he did have a basic idea of what had happened, but he was too out of his mind for it to really sink in. That part probably came much later, after he'd begun to improve.

The image of him sitting in that cold hospital room in District Thirteen, left to face the sudden loss of his family by himself, no shoulder to cry on, sends a chill down my spine. Because this is exactly the point Haymitch made when Peeta was hijacked. If I had been the one whose mind was taken, Peeta would have done everything he could to bring me back. And now...well, the situation isn't all that different. Here, I'm the one who's gone insane, and here Peeta is, doing what I didn't do for him. A feeling that I'm all too familiar with washes over me. Shame.

My shoulders fall forward. Peeta sees this and misinterprets my body language. He comes over and takes my hands. "Katniss, I know you're in a very dark place right now, and it seems like you'll never find your way out. But it's not something you have to face alone."

"Don't," I whisper, looking away.

"Don't what?" He drops my hands quickly and takes a step back, as though he's crossed some boundary.

"Don't be so nice to me," I say. "I don't deserve it after the way I treated you. You were in your own dark place, and I just left you there."

He hesitates before speaking again. "I tried to kill you, Katniss." I can tell it's a painful admission for him to make. "You couldn't exactly hang around."

"I mean after that. After you'd begun to improve." Tears are now stinging my eyes, and I don't have the strength to fight them. The words come pouring out of me as though a floodgate has been opened. "Coin wasn't going to send me to the Capitol, but I was so bent on my petty need for revenge that I did everything I could to make sure I was on that train. If I'd put my energy into helping you get better, a lot of senseless deaths might not have happened. Maybe I could have somehow stopped her from sending Prim on the front lines. And Finnick...he was never going to let go of Annie's hand."

"Katniss..." Peeta shakes his head. "Coin was going to send you to the Capitol anyway. I think our whole squad was doomed from the get go. You were a threat because you were the Mockingjay, and Boggs was a threat for supporting you. That Holo was suspiciously inaccurate, don't you think? Coin probably had a nice little accident waiting for both of you, and she didn't care who else she took out in the process. When the opportunity to put me on the squad came up, that was just icing on the cake for her."

I take a moment to consider what he said. I never looked at it that way before, but Peeta's theory makes sense. Once the districts were united, my usefulness to the rebellion had run its course. Coin didn't need me standing in the way of her rise to power. She needed to conveniently dispose of me, and she knew Boggs wasn't about to let that happen. That's probably why we were assigned to the same squad.

"Katniss, you must understand that all those senseless deaths were at the hands of the corrupt leaders of the old regime, and _not your fault_. And I know what I'm talking about, because it took me a long time to let go of my guilt over killing Mitchell. But Coin knew I was unstable when she sent me out there."

I sit silently, letting his words sink in. When I don't say anything, Peeta keeps going. "When she held that vote, it was clear she needed to be brought down. She wasn't going to end the Games. She would have found a way to justify continuing them, year after year. Who knows how many lives you saved by killing her. And as for the people who did lose their lives, well they did so for a cause they believed in. And that includes your sister. So we owe it to them to live well."

I nod, wiping my tears with the cuff of my shirt. Of course, he's right. I need to start trying. Really trying. For Prim. For Finnick. For Boggs. I owe them at least that much.

My eyes drift over to the mess on the countertop. My voice cracks as I speak. "Anything I can do?"

Peeta follows my gaze and understands my meaning. "Do you know how to make cookies?"

"If you talk me through it."

"Come on." He smiles and leads me over to the counter, where we both set to work.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Finally! A chapter where there's more going on than Katniss and Peeta standing around the kitchen talking.**_

**Peeta**

That night, Katniss and I are camping in the trees of the clock arena with Finnick and Mags. I'm still recovering from being electrocuted by the force field. It's after midnight, and Katniss keeps watch so that the rest of us can sleep. But sleep seems to be evading me.

As I lay on the ground, I'm alerted to a gurgling sound. I open my eyes in time to witness Katniss slitting the throat of an unsuspecting Finnick.

"What are you doing?" I ask, dumbfounded.

She nonchalantly wipes the knife on the leg of her jumpsuit as she moves on to Mags. "Ensuring my victory," she says in a wicked tone. She takes the life of the old woman in one swift motion, then saunters over to me.

Ensuring _her_ victory? With these words, I realize I'm her next target. I quickly sit up and, with the element of surprise on my side, easily pin her to the ground. She struggles under my weight, and because I'm still weak from the afternoon's ordeal, it takes every ounce of strength I can muster to hold her there. Still, I have the upper hand and manage to wrestle the knife from her. I place the cold, hard metal at her neck and look into her dangerously ferocious eyes.

This can't be right. This cold-blooded killer can't possibly be Katniss. But I can't ignore what I just saw, or the way she glares murderously at me. I remain on my guard, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Go ahead," hisses the snakelike voice of President Snow. I look around to see where it's coming from, but there's no one around. "Kill the mutt before she causes you any more pain."

_Mutt?_ I look back at my attacker and, pressing down with the blade, consider sliding it across her neck. But as I watch, her stare changes from vicious to fearful, and back again. "Peeta, what are you doing?" she pleads.

_This is wrong!_ Katniss and I aren't enemies. We aren't in some temporary alliance that will eventually be severed for our own personal gain. We really are in this together. Watching each other's backs, ideally, until it comes down to just the two of us. I'm planning on dying here, so that she might live. And I'm pretty certain she's planning to do the same for me. I'm sure of it.

"You're lying!" I say to Snow's disembodied voice. But even as I speak, I realize I'm the one I'm trying to convince.

"She tells you she loves you while she plots your death, destroys your home, and kills your family," Snow refutes. "Rid yourself of her malice once and for all."

"No!" It takes a lot of determination, but I finally summon the resolve to withdraw the knife. "She's not a mutt!" I toss the weapon aside and take Katniss in my arms. Suddenly, the scene around us changes, and we find ourselves on the beach under a full moon. "I need you," she says beseechingly, and the sincerity in her eyes is impossible to doubt. I'm about to say something, but before I can utter the first word, she leans in and touches her lips to mine.

I don't resist as the kiss becomes increasingly more heated. Our hands snake around each other, pulling our bodies closer until there isn't an inch of space between us. This isn't like all the other times. Those sleazy shows of affection during the Victory Tour that were merely an attempt to settle the unrest in the districts. This kiss feels different. This kiss feels like it's for me, and not the audience.

_Is _it different? Does she feel it too? The fire burning within? Or is she playing to the cameras?

For the moment, I decide, it doesn't matter. The future I've dreamed of with this girl has been taken away. I don't have much time to say everything I want to, so I pour it all into this kiss and let my actions do the talking.

Oh, of only we weren't being watched...

Lightning strikes the twelve o'clock tree, and suddenly I'm sitting up in my own bed. Relieved to find myself back in District Twelve. Relieved to know that Katniss and I are both alive. It's still storming pretty hard, and I realize the peals of thunder from outside are the source of the noise that awoke me.

I sink back onto my pillow and reflect on the scene that just played out in my sleep. It wasn't my typical nightmare. Yes, I saw Katniss kill Finnick and Mags in cold blood, but this was obviously a product of the Capitol's lies. When I was faced with the urge to kill her, I was able to fight against it. And _I_ won! For the first time, I _conquered_ a nightmare.

There's nothing I want more than a future with Katniss, but there is so much uncertainty clouding the possibility, not the least of which are the terrors that descend at night. Because how can I sleep next to her if I have to spend every night watching myself kill her? What if I were to say something hideous in my sleep? I cringe at the thought of her ever seeing that side of me again, even if she knows it's not really me. But now...am I a fool to believe I will overcome this too?

With a renewed sense of hope, I settle back down, shut my eyes, and try to pick up where my dream left off.

* * *

**Katniss**

After Peeta left last night, I popped the seal on the first bottle of antidepressants. I'm not expecting any miracles, but it's a small step in the right direction.

Dr. Aurelius calls after breakfast, and this time, I decide to actually talk. I tell him about my eruption at the sight of the birthday cake. How I've become a recluse, and have spent the last few months functioning like a robot. How I looked when I saw myself in the glass last night. The guilt I've been harboring over so many needless deaths. My talks with Peeta. His attempt to persuade me to go hunting.

He says I haven't been grieving properly. That the reason for my outburst was because I've been bottling my emotions, and that the pain in my chest is my body reacting physically to the stress of carrying so much baggage. He tells me to release my emotions as they come, and to take comfort in those who care. Like Peeta.

And, he still insists that I keep busy, establish a routine. The problem is, I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to do anymore. But, I guess getting Peeta that birthday squirrel is a good place to start. Maybe I'll go tomorrow if it's not raining.

Peeta and I have plans to walk to town together to meet the train. I'm not expecting anything, but Greasy Sae has a package coming, and she doesn't trust the current break in the weather to hold, so I offered to pick up her stuff. Peeta's just thrilled to get me out of the house. Not long after I hang up with the doctor, he shows up at my door.

"I want to leave some bread for Haymitch before we go," he says. "He'll be wanting it tomorrow, when he's hungover."

My counter, in lieu of various baking ingredients, is now piled high with the finished products. I suppose this is going to be the norm until Peeta gets his oven replaced. Fine by me. I had fun helping him.

Peeta picks out a sourdough loaf, then we head across the green to pay our mentor a visit.

We knock several times, but there is no answer. "Try the door," I suggest after about five minutes of waiting. "It's usually unlocked." I should know. I come here at least once a week.

Peeta reaches for the knob and, for good measure, gives the door one more light rapping before turning it. Slowly, he pushes it open just enough to poke his head inside.

"Haymitch?"

Nothing but silence. He must have gone to meet the train already. Peeta opens the door the rest of the way, and, just as he takes the first step inside, an object from above comes crashing down. Before I can blink, Peeta is covered in caramel apple, wearing a pie plate for a hat.

"What the hell?" He reaches up and removes the plate from his head. "Is this my pie?" The sight causes a short, loud cackle to burst through my lips. I quickly throw my hand over my open mouth as Peeta shoots me a dirty look. "Sorry." I whisper, trying to suppress my mirth.

"Caught red-handed," says a familiar voice at the far end of the room. I peek inside to see Haymitch sitting at his kitchen table. So he was expecting us. Or...he was expecting _me._ "Maybe next time you'll think twice about sneaking into my house."

"Real mature, Haymitch!" Peeta chucks the bread in our mentor's direction before storming off toward his house. I follow after him, but halfway across the lawn I'm forced to stop. I double over and the laughter spills out in loud gaffaws. And it feels so good. I try to remember the last time I had a good laugh, but all I can think of is that wretched assignment in the Capitol, right before the mission went south. More than half a year ago now.

Something splats me above the ear before hitting the ground. A baked apple slice. I look up, and Peeta is standing ten feet away with a devilish grin across his face. "I believe this was meant for you." He slings another at me, but I duck out of the way at the last second.

I inhale deeply. "Mmm...I love cinnamon."

"Well, then. Here you go." He walks over and smears a handful of what's left of the pie into my hair before heading back to his house.


End file.
